November 30, 2011

An odd and lovely quintet of albums populate this week's Motherlode harvest: A Venezuelan Austrian freaks out groovily / a Brazilian son of Syrians croons at the birth of bossa nova / Cuba's longest-running charanga champs leave it all on the dance floor / Bollywood's greatest male warbler sings a different tune / and one of reggae's perennial backup trios cover the Temptations, Ohio Players and more...

"Awful shit, this music. It is the same with Donald Byrd, who was a great trumpet artist, did wonderful albums in the 60's, but around 1970 the jazz-world had all this bullshit music with voices, pop-arrangements, awfull sounds, so a real jazzfan wishes bop back again. Luckily, this music here did not survive." (Pathetic but entertaining comment by "Anonymous" at Quimsy's Mumbo Jumbo)

On November 1, 1956 disaster struck the Dominion Coal Company's Springhill, Nova Scotia mine when a powerline ignited some coal dust 5,500 feet below the ground, trapping over 100 miners in the deep tunnels below the Earth's surface. Eighty-eight of the trapped miners were eventually rescued, but 39 workers died in the tragedy. Google map

November 29, 2011

Some of you may be aware of an era where vinyl just wasn't sought after by fetishists, but when it was THE way to hear music. Voices of East Anglia has posted two great photosets (see one and two) of the "His Master's Voice" record store in the '60s. A far cry from dusty dollar bins in the hole-in-the-wall record stores of today. Thanks to Fabio for the tipoff.

Looking for footage of the Future Legend, stumbled on an entire Youtube channel solely devoted to David Bowie's "Year of The Diamond Dog" -- 1974. The anonymous user had gone to great lengths to digitally rectify and stitch together silent home-movie footage with best-available source audio. A labor of love in ultimate fandom. The June-July Diamond Dogs Tour, stretched through Canada, The Midwest and The South before hot settlements in Philadelphia (band-contentious David Live recording) and NYC (MSG) hauling to every stop three trucks full of stage props.

Good news this year as the Wal-Mart Shopping Season revved into high gear on the Friday after the Macy's Day Parade: Although there were plenty of police-on-shopper beatings, shopper-on-shopper violence, and in-store tramplings, at least no one died this year, as did Jdimytai Damour, a Wal-Mart temp employee, when he was trampled to death by a bargain-frenzied crowd in 2008. (Well, actually, Walter Vance of Charleston, West Virginia, did die in a Target store this year, but that was from a heart attack and at least it didn’t impede any of the other shoppers, who just stepped over him and continued scooping up those half-price Cars 2 videos.)

Shopping: The Most Dangerous Sport is a relatively new phenomenon, but now Scientists and Financial Experts have an explanation: It’s just a manifestation of The New Prosperity! Yes, Americans—especially Americans without jobs—are rethinking their options, and redefining their values, such as the importance they’ve placed on things like food, clothing, and shelter. “Let’s get off this hedonic treadmill!” they cry, as they go to live in a cardboard box outside Penn Station. Scientists at the Ministry of Prosperity say that if we just redefine our terms, everything will be fine. Poverty is Prosperity! War is Peace! Freedom is Slavery! Ignorance is Strength! Who wouldn’t pepper-spray another person for the chance to buy a $2 waffle iron?

November 27, 2011

Merle Allin Senior was a deeply religious, and by all accounts, a deeply disturbed man, so when he decided to name his first child Jesus Christ Allin, the implication was clear: he believed his son was going to be a great man, perhaps even a savior. That the boy would end up being the self-proclaimed savior of rock ‘n’ roll instead had to be the furthest thing from his mind, except, of course, for the extreme lengths his son would go to recover the music’s soul. Only a few short years into the young boy’s life, he would be free from his tyrannical, frightening father and be unofficially rechristened G.G. (a nickname derived from his little brother and future band mate Merle Jr.’s stammering attempts at pronouncing “Jesus”) and plunge headlong into a life-long career -- or a crime spree depending on how you look at it -- that would make him a hero to some, and the most reprehensible villain to others.

Today marks the beginning of Advent. Although this is technically the season for Advent music, rather than Christmas music, it’s been a long time since that distinction was recognized (if it ever really was). And so, today I’m offering up my new favorite Christmas album.

The Sacred Heart Singers were a group of young women - all but a few of them teens and younger girls - from the small town of Ewen, Michigan, in the Upper Peninsula. They made a handful of records, and were popular enough to have made a number of appearances on local and regional TV, and, if the text on this album is to be believed, were internationally known, for a time. A friend of mine shared their first album with me, “Come Alive”, which has some wonderful moments, and this put me on the lookout for their other material, which brought me to the “Come Alive at Christmas” album.

As much as I enjoyed the first album, this Christmas album is even better. I adore the sound of children singing naturally (as opposed to Broadway, Pop, Classically or otherwise “trained” singing children), and the addition of the sweet acoustic instruments, simple, direct harmonies and great, timeless songs adds up to something very special.

But there’s something else, too. The accent heard in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan is a wonder to hear, with a lilt and rhythm that is unique and which I find hard to describe. But one feature that crops up in the singing here is a tendency to seemingly race through vowels in order to get to certain consonants, ending sounds which are then held onto for a longer period than is the case for most English speakers. This can be heard on many words ending in “M”, “N”, “R”, and particularly, “ING”. Heard here, sung by a large group, there a ringing, resonant sound to those words, and I find the effect magical, even sort of intoxicating in places. It’s heard on almost every track here and there, but most obviously in “Silver Bells”. This a song which I’ve never even liked, but here, all of those lovely "ING's" bring me back for repeated listenings.

The album starts of slowly, with an odd choice, a Perry Como song called “C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S”, which I find to be one of the lesser tracks. But keep listening, because that’s followed by “O Come Little Children”, easily my favorite on the album – maybe my favorite “new to me” track that I’ve heard this year – and (except for a version of the fairly awful song “My Two Front Teeth”) the high quality remains for most of the remaining tracks.

This album fairly well defines “Guileless” for me, and that’s one of the best things I can say about an album, particularly a Christmas album. Maybe there’s something in the air up there – this album was made about an hour’s drive away from Rhinelander, Wisconsin, where another singularly guileless, even more magical album, “Musical Memories of Camp Bryn Afon” was created.

Incidentally, you can find a posting of the Sacred Heart Singers best song of all, a track from their first album titled “Once Upon Eternity”, posted at my friend’s blog here.

I hope you find some of the same joy in this record that I've experienced:

November 25, 2011

"The creative person shows himself naked. And the more vigorous his creative act, the more naked he appears, sometimes totally vulnerable, yet always invulnerable in the sense of his own integrity. I am now 69 as this is being said, and I've been Doing My Own Thing for five and a half decades. This "Thing" began with Truth, and Truth does exist. For some hundreds of years, The Truth of just intonation (which is defined in any good music dictionary) has been hidden, one could almost say maliciously, because truth always threatens the ruling hierarchy, or, they think so."

So Harry Partch dramatically begins his Prologue in the original LP release of "Delusion of the Fury: A Ritual of Dream and Delusion." Harry Partch's "Delusion of the Fury" has long been heralded as his masterwork. The piece is a music & theatre piece (to describe it as "musical theatre" would be misleading), in which musicians and dancers perform the continuous 90-minute piece, blurring the lines of musical concert and performance piece. Until The Japan Society commissioned a performance of the piece in 2007, the 1969 premiere was the only performance of "Delusion," and the premiere, released originally as a two-disc release by Columbia Masterworks in 1971, remains the standard recording of the piece.

In a half hour, I heard two radically different but excellent female singers. Irene Trudel played Sandy Denny singing a demo of "Who Knows Where The Time Goes," which Denny sang in completed form on Fairport Convention's Unhalfbrickling in 1969. Scott Williams played the free improvisation of Linda Sharrock with her guitarist husband, Sonny. Scott narrates trying to explain Sharrock's voice to his six-year old, Llia, who adopted Linda's style and saranaded dad. For me, the Sharrock team invokes early Lennon/Ono work such as "Touch Me," also selected by Scott.

If Sharrock's electric avant-shards are too "out" for you, Monica played blues guitarist Freddie King after The Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra. I'm always talking about segueing organic sounds with modern electronic sheens, but Monica segues a layered arrangement into a small combo where King's six string shines like a razor--an equally gratifying contrast.

Let's end by me shutting up for an archive blitz. Liz Berg played.Orbits and The Black Hollies. John Allen, Pulse Emitter. Therese played Acid Baby Jesus. Sue P. played Sex Church next to Druids Of Stonehenge on Solid Gold Hell.

A happy and safe holiday weekend for everyone and I'll catch you next Friday.

November 24, 2011

Chicago's Bloodiest are hands down the best thing I have seen all year. A brutally full sound, dry and emotional. Everything that was once interesting about Nick Cave, Bruce Lamont and company take to a whole new level of excellence. Just when I was starting to feel a void of new interesting music...

When God Calls You to Open a Video Store, You Do It"In the early '70s, while a full-time student at Cal State San Bernadino, wife, and voice teacher with a full-time job, the unexpected happened. Daz was asked to sign a record deal by Howard Caldwell, a producer at Try Hard Records in Rialto, CA. Unaware he was taping her, Caldwell was impressed with Daz's training with a voice student. Reluctant to sign because of her busy schedule, Daz eventually gave in to Caldwell, who assured her she wouldn't have to travel much. But after one hit song in six months, the demands for her to travel began. She traveled for a year and was home only three months. With three children and a husband, she decided to quit. 'The Lord told me to come out of it,' she said. 'I never looked back.' In 1974 (a year later) she got a regular job as a counselor at a juvenile hall and finished school with a B.S. in Psychology. She became the first black female supervisor for San Bernadino County in 1979 before becoming a probation officer in 1983. Then the Lord called her to do something else. She and her husband, Norman, opened the first black video store..." (Excerpted from a much longer bio atDaz's MySpace page.)

I found out about this couple by way of Angela from Weirdo Records saying that each of their records were one of those that you could hardly play a side from it before someone came up to the counter and bought it. And aren't these two absolutely darling? While I have worked at record stores, none of them had the gumption to have slabs like these gracing the shelves, and I had to have it. The claim to fame for Paul & Paula (not their real names) started as a neighborhood couple in college who sang this song at a nearby Texas radio station and spurred a wave of popularity that coasted well past an initial record deal. They are credited for setting into motion the barrage of duets that followed in the 60s, with this hit Hey Paula (written by "Paul"), which was number one for most of February in 1963.

I went to St Louis for the Old School Tattoo Expo, where world renowned tattooer Lyle Tuttle celebrated his 80th birthday; here's a photo of his cake (it's the Frisco Flyer tattoo machine that he made and made famous). The highlight of the weekend, aside from reconnecting with Lyle and other great friends in the business for me- was the visit a few of us made to the 10 story City Museum there. A cross between the works of Antoni Gaudi and Mad Max, it's an amazing playground created for the most part, from junk! There was a ferris wheel on the roof, alongside the praying mantis dome, and on the same level was a schoolbus that was perched precariously with 2 wheels hanging off the roof for patrons to explore. There were slides on every floor; nope, not visual slides; the kind you plant your ass on and tumble down! One was a 10 story spiral slide, not unlike the style that comes to mind when referring to water parks. All types of sculpture and found object placement that was delightful, including an area with discarded architectural features - lions and gargoyles and lampposts, oh my! There is a section called the Enchanted Caves, which looked just like it sounded. Part of the museum had an aquarium within it; stocked with turtles and catfish, completely accessible if you wanted to pluck a turtle out of the water and walk around with him, you could! The aquarium (pictured left) was part of the maze of walk through/get lost in sculpture that made up the majority of the ground floor. I may not be describing it accurately, mostly because that's a difficult task; The City Museum defies categorization, which is a breath of fresh air this day and age. There's also a couple of bars, a smoothie joint and a thrift store within the museum's expanse, not to mention the fuselage of an airplane, a series of monkey bars that stretches countless yards, animal sculptures made of gears, a castle turret and more.

No words can really convey what goes on there; the photos featured after the jump will do some of the inventiveness and beauty of it justice, and the real experience can only be yours if you visit. Yes. It's an experiential kind of place. Show up in sneakers!

November 21, 2011

A bit of quicksilver dislodged by last week's run-through with the Panavision camera reminded me to finally get down and find the title of The-Weird-Cartoon-Special-Seen-Once-In-Early-Childhood, which a simple search for keywords “Faustian, Animated” would have produced fairly instantly, had only the hazy memory of a jazz singer signing her name in blood flickered more frequently. The flick in question, The Devil & Daniel Mouse, a 1978 television special made by Nelvana, the same animation studio that produced that other piece of the media memory puzzle, The-Weird-Cartoon-Movie-Taped-Off-Cable-And-Watched-Over-Again-Over-Again, in this case the 1983 sci-fi furry musical Rock and Rule. Rewrites of each other, both feature shapeshifting monster dandies in the mold of Rocky Horror / Phantom Of The Paradise, tempting and attempting to control the talents of “sexy” humanoid rodents who triumph in the end through vocal harmony, all written in the language of decadent post-Ziggy David Bowie dystopia (Year Of The Diamond Dog, 1974).

I have collected 200 Public Service Announcements into a playlist on youtube. Everything from vintage to present, serious to silly, disturbing and nonsensical. Drug abuse, sexual abuse, forest fires, littering, drinking and driving, texting while walking, bullying, farting, menstruation, and more. Take a walk down memory lane or learn a thing or two along my little detour of the information superhighway. It could make you delirious.